Worlds Apart
by GoatEatingToilet
Summary: Three men connected by an ancient relic. Three men who are not only all from different worlds, different versions of 'Earth', but who are all also worlds apart as far as personalities go. Bound by fate, the trio must learn how to trust and rely on one another as they find themselves continually thrust into new dimensions that are under some sort of threat by the undead.
1. Introduction

**Introduction**

* * *

><p>There was a blazing flash of light that would have temporarily blinded anyone within sight of it and, as it faded, three men stood in a spot where nothing but tumbleweeds and a small dust storm had existed before. They all shifted around and examined their surroundings with a sense of anxiety that accompanied them with every new place they were thrown into.<p>

If someone were to pass by the group, they would likely be thought of as collection of worthless vagabonds. They were all wearing tattered, stained clothing as well as smears of blood and dirt on every piece of exposed skin they had.

"So where the fuck are we this time?" Spider casually asked, providing the trio with his usual post-transition question. Having just recently torn the sleeves off of his newly acquired shirt, he was picking at the ripped material where tendrils of loose threads kept tickling his shoulder like actual spider legs. Neither John Marston nor Herbert West batted an eye at his foul-mouth dialogue, as they had all been stuck together long enough to learn each other's traits and not badger each other about them. Spider didn't receive an answer, not that he really thought he would anyway… but it still would've been nice. Herbert began to clean his glasses, which had gained a fine film of dust on them in mere seconds of their arrival, and John surveyed the land in front of him. Something about it looked awfully familiar… felt awfully familiar.

Along with their ragtag look, each one of them was carrying something… grisly. West's medical bag looked incredibly dinged up and blood was dripping out from something inside of it, Marston's large hunting knife had seen its fair share of combat, clearly displayed by the dulled edges and broken tip, and Spider's belt holstered a variety of bloodied hammers in it, some of which holding onto the fleshy remnants of whatever poor soul he had last bludgeoned it with.

"Does it really matter, hmm, _Spider_?" Herbert asked, taking an effort to say his companion's name in a way that continued to show his disdain for it. He liked the punk well enough he supposed (if Herbert could indeed 'like' someone at all, that was), but the name 'Spider' was just childish and irksome to him. Regardless, he doubted he would ever learn the young man's real name. "It's never where we are that should worry us, but what to expect: some form of the undead."

"Looks like your kind of shithole, John," Spider lamented, ignoring the doctor's reply and pushing forward with his rebellious attitude of disrespect and defiance. He had equated the area to the gunslinger because all he could see was overgrown weeds, cacti and lots of barren, dry earth all around them… and it reminded him of what the Wild West must have looked like almost as much as Marston himself did.

"It is…" John muttered in return, drinking in the sights as the familiarity gave way to full-on nostalgia. It wasn't easy to tell exactly where you were just by a desert landscape, but John was very acquainted with the rocky formations he had ridden passed time and time again, the nooks and crannies where outlaw gangs once hid and he would be damned if it didn't look like the town of Armadillo was just ahead in the distance. A huge smile spread across his face for the first time in what felt like ages. "Boys…" he said proudly, turning to face his travelling partners, "I do believe I'm home!"

Spider and Herbert looked at each other with equal measures of shock and disbelief. Was it true? Had they really come full-circle and somehow managed to make it back to John's old stomping ground? What would it mean if they had?

As John happily began to walk towards town, a much gloomier duo followed behind him. All three men began to reminisce on just how their stories began and subsequently intertwined, as well as the adventures they had had as a result.


	2. From the old West…

**Chapter 1 – From the old West… (_Red Dead Redemption: Undead Nightmare_)**

* * *

><p>John watched with sorrowful eyes as his wife, Abagail, and son, Jack, rode off on the hose he had just ushered them onto. He knew this would be the last time he would ever see them, the last time he would be able to tell them he loved them. His days were at an end and he knew it. The foreboding dark clouds that were rolling in were extremely ominous to his current situation.<p>

"Jesus! Where did those come from? And why are they moving so fast?" he thought, momentarily distracting himself from the misery in front of him and the doom he still had to face. The very least he could hope to do was save his family from a certain deadly fate if he sacrificed himself to the armed forces waiting on the other side of the barn.

He turned around, readying himself to confront whatever may come, and opened one of the double doors just enough to get a peek outside and ascertain the conditions.

It wasn't good.

There was a gang of men (ten of them at the very least) lined up in front of the building, guns aimed and ready to fill him full of holes and lead.

John took a step back and exhaled a deep, resolute breath, as if convincing himself that this was what he had to do. A moment later he pushed the doors open and walked outside to the greeting of hired hands with pointed weapons. Among them was the director of the Bureau of Investigation and the whole reason John found himself in this mess: Edgar Ross.

Even with death imminent, there was nothing more John would like to have done at that very moment than blow the smarmy mustache off that bureaucrat's face… and then put a hole between his eyes for good measure. The breathing pile of human rubbish had promised John he could go back to his normal life, a life with his family, after dealing with the former gang members he rode with once upon a time. But that promise only lasted so long before he brought an army to extinguish the last living memory of that gang: John himself. The American frontier and the old West were coming to an end in 1911 and gunslingers like John were becoming fewer and fewer as their world disappeared around them. It didn't help matters that men Like Ross were hell-bent on bringing their extinction to them instead of letting it happen naturally.

"I should have figured that filth would have survived a Goddamn apocalypse where the dead rise from their graves and feast on the living," John quickly thought to himself, recalling his feint hope that Ross had been eaten (or worse) a month before when Abraham Reyes, a revolutionary leader of a paramilitary group that had recently seized power in Nuevo Paraíso with John's help, had stolen an ancient mask from a holy Aztec temple. The mask (as John would later find out was called the 'Jade Veil of Blight Resurrection') was created as a cursed object that the Aztecs would present to their enemies under the pretense of it being a gift or sign of surrender. Once taken, all the dead of the land would come back to life and attack the group that held the object until it was returned to its rightful owners. When Abraham disturbed the ancient landmark and took the mask, hordes of the undead rose up and descended upon the populace of Nuevo Paraiso as well as New Austin and West Elizabeth… and maybe even the rest of the US for all John knew. It took him days, but John was eventually able to return the Jade Veil to the place where Reyes originally stole it from, thus ending the supernatural plague that had seized the land.

John reached for the butt of his gun, ready to pull a quick draw and take out as many of the men as he could before they put an end to his life… but then something happened. Something that took them all by surprise. The black clouds that had formed overhead in the distance were all at once swallowing the sky above them, covering the men in a darkened embrace. A loud crackle of thunder seemed to shake the very ground beneath their feet and a collection of wolf howls could be heard nearby. These signature cries were not normal however, they had a certain demonic vibe to them that John remembered well. Before anyone could make a move one way or another, a pack of four undead animals attacked and began sinking their fangs into the soldiers and their horses. Chaos quickly ensued and John unholstered his Cattleman revolver and rapidly began unloading bullets into the heads of men and beasts alike.

"Goddamnit!" he yelled out angrily, retreating to the safe refuge of his barn as the dead men from the cavalry he had killed earlier began to rise and seek out human flesh as sustenance. The number would be overwhelming considering that the Marston family had shot and killed at least fifty men during the initial raid, and only a handful of those were from headshots.

* * *

><p>His chest tightened as he climbed the unsteady rung to the hayloft above, the only sounds he could hear were a few more gunshots and the soul-tearing shrieks of men screaming their last breaths as they were being eaten alive.<p>

The undead, while having a ferocious appetite and a powerful sense of smell that alerted them to a nearby food source, were not exactly as smart as they were when once alive. The befouled corpses knew how to run, how to hit and grab, how to chomp and chew… but they lost some of the more advanced motor skills, like the knowledge of how to climb a ladder or ride a horse.

The clouds hadn't advanced far enough East to completely blot out the sun and it shown its bright light into the upper loft as John swung one of the doors open to examine the state of his surroundings. It would have almost been a tranquil setting if it wasn't for the undead scurrying about beneath him and the dozens of freshly fallen beginning to right themselves and shamble through his property. Suddenly something caught his eye and he was all at once disappointed.

"Son of a bitch…" he cursed under his breath. One of the many walking dead that littered the ground was none other than Edgar Ross. It looked as if someone or something had ripped the man's throat out. John wasn't so much disappointed that Ross was dead as he was that he didn't get to do the deed himself, let alone even see it happen!

A thin smile lined his lips as he steadied the revolver on his forearm, pulled back the hammer spur and trained the front sight right between the eyes of the lumbering bureaucrat. John didn't really need to steady his firearm. Hell, he didn't even need to take such care with the aim, as the man could have easily just performed a quick-draw from his holster and hit a target square on at twice the distance of his current mark. The thing was, John wanted to enjoy this… at least as much as he could, given the brooding circumstances. There was a cracking 'boom' that echoed through the air as the revolver discharged, the sound momentarily competing with the harrowing crash of thunder above and John watched as Edgar's head whipped back to a degree that surly would have snapped his neck if he weren't already dead. The entry point was a glorious sight to see, but the exit wound was spectacular. John knew there was a fair share of morbidity and possibly even sin involved in the pleasure he derived from what he saw, but watching the back of Ross' scalp flap around like a piece of paper caught in the wind was something he had only been able to dream about before.

The corpse crumpled to the ground and the loud sound brought with it the unwanted attention of the surrounding dead. They began to swarm the barn, releasing moans and screeches along the way as they raised their hands up in a vain attempt to reach live prey. The distraction, as it turned out, was a blessing in disguise, as it cleared the area enough for John to plot an escape by quickly lowering himself to a distance safe enough to drop from and making a mad dash to one of the distraught horses that had been circling around since hysteria first stirred the area. Upon securing a steed, he spurred the animal toward the road, bursting through the line of undead that had begun chasing after him as soon as his feet hit the ground. The horse whinnied in fear as it came in contact with the bodies, but as they flew to the side the stallion kept to the course. John may not have had the slightest clue where his wife and son had ridden off to, but he knew where he could find the mask and the man responsible for once again throwing the land he loved into peril. It was, in a sense, his own fault though, as he was the one who told Seth Briars the whole story of how he had bested an old Aztec curse by putting the dead back to rest and restoring order. The treasure-seeking loon may have been a dirty, grave-robbing prospector, but every man needed a place to rest at night, and that stinky old coot had taken quite a liking to the old Baccus place. That was where Seth would be, that was where the mask would be and that was surely where John _needed_ to be.

* * *

><p>As the small shack that sat on the property came into view, John was reminded of why he thought of the area as 'quaint'. Truth be told, if it wasn't for Jack, he probably wouldn't have even had any idea what that word meant… or that it existed. 'It means something is attractively unusual' Jack had answered when his father asked about the expression.<p>

The words kept repeating in his head as he neared the building. 'Attractively unusual' would definitely be how John would describe the old Baccus place. It was nestled at the bottom of a hill and fairly secluded from the public eye. Back in the day it used to be the hideout for a group of moonshiners (hence the name) but was abandoned when they were caught and hanged for their crimes. Because of its out-of-the-way location, Mintie Cummings and Theodore Eaves, an interracial couple, had taken up residence on the property, thoroughly enjoying the ability to be in one another's company when such a pairing would have sent any community into an uproar and resulted in an unruly lynch mob. Unfortunately, it wasn't a mob that would split the couple up, but the unfortunate infestation of the undead from a month beforehand. John had saved Mintie when she became trapped in an abandoned house after taking shelter in it for the night and waking up to the place being surrounded by the hungry dead. As he escorted her to a safe town, she recalled of how he was the second man to save her from those 'things'. The first was Theodore, and it cost him his life.

It really came as no surprise to John to find that Seth had made himself at home in the shack during the ensuing chaos. The man was just as much of a charlatan as any snake oil salesman. Once the dust settled the first time around, Seth decided to stay at the abode as no one could contest ownership once Mintie left town. Mr. Briars had been an odd fellow since long before John met him, but even he was taken aback by just how cozy Seth was able to get with the undead. He had lured a horde of them to his place and treated them far better than any living soul he had come in contact with and they, in turn, did not try to eat his flesh from his bones. They seemed docile, even, as they did not attack John either, despite Seth's attempts to sick a particular one on him.

As suspected, there was another gathering of brainless savages surrounding the crazed prospector and, much like before, Seth was dancing around erratically with one of them, the Jade Veil tied to his face with a length of twine. John was not in the mood for any of Seth's games and he meant to make that point very clear from the get-go. Six shots rang out, echoing across the pristine landscape and six bodies once again returned to their state of peaceful rot and decay.

"Don't even think about it," John commanded, jolting the reloaded gun cylinder back into place with a flick of his wrist.

A cowering, shivering Seth stopped dead in his motion at the warning as he reached for his revolver. Instead, he redirected his shaky hand upwards and slowly removed the mask, so he could see just who had ruined his party.

"Oh, hey- hey there John," Seth said with a slight feeling of relief. "If you fancied talkin' with me alone you coulda just pulled me to the side instead of removing all of my guests here." He looked around at the bodies encircling him, kicking at their feet and arms to see if maybe, just maybe, John had not completely killed all of them.

"Cut she shit, Seth. You know why I'm here, so just hand over the relic and we can call it a day. I'll go fix this whole mess… again."

"Fix this whole mess?" Seth stood up, appearing somewhat defiant to what his friend was suggesting. "Fix this whole mess? Don't you see what's goin' on here, John? It's beautiful! These are my kind of people! They don't judge me like the livin', they don't leave me like the livin'! They don't tell me what to do or care 'bout how bad I smell. I _like_ the world this way, John." He began to cackle a mad laugh that John was all too familiar with.

"I ain't kidding around!" John raised his revolver up again, aiming the barrel of the iron squarely at Seth's forehead. "My family is out there in this mess this time! For chrissakes, I need to put an end to this before it is too late for 'em!"

"Alright, alright!" Seth conceded, digging into his pants pocket. He dug his hand in so forcefully that he nearly lost his trousers around his ankles by pulling the material out from under the rope that tied it to his waist. Luckily for John, that worst case scenario did not pan out.

"Ah," Seth breathed, seeming content in finding whatever he was looking for. "Here you are, John. Do treat it with care, 'tis important to me," he said, holding a glass eye in his outstretched palm.

"What the hell is this?" John questioned, looking at the trinket being offered to him. The eye was a memento of the very last time John had accompanied Seth on one of his 'treasure hunts'. Seth was convinced that this one would be the one, the real deal, a trove of wealth beyond imagination. And, in the end, all it turned out to be was a Goddamn glass eye. During the first uprising of the dead, people had all kinds of theories about why it was happening and who was behind it. One of those theories was that the eye was causing it and Seth was to blame. It his typical foolish fashion, Seth had swallowed the eye without prompt or warning. John knew how he must have got it back… and he didn't want to touch the damn thing after that.

"Not the eye, you crazy bastard! The mask!"

Seth recoiled in fear, clutching both the mask and the eye to his chest in protest. "This here mask is mine, John, mine! It's making the world a better place… for me! Why it's-" Seth suddenly stopped, feeling an awkward sensation in his hands. Suddenly there was a sharp pain and he yelled out in disdain, dropping what he was holding. "Damn thing!"

The mask spilled to the ground and landed with a 'clink' sound. John's eyes widened in dread and he rushed towards the fallen artifact. He picked it up and a felt a quick and sudden sting across one of his fingers.

"Shit!" he grunted and hastily pulled his hand back while keep a firm grip on the mask with the other.

"Did it cut ya? It cut me."

John glanced at his finger and saw that it was indeed bleeding. "How the hell did it cut us?" he asked, his eyes glancing in the direction of the Jade Veil. What he saw almost made him drop the mask in astonishment. Smack dab in the middle of the green forehead was the damn glass eye. It looked as if it had been absorbed into the mask and… the thing was looking around like it was alive! "What did you do, Seth?!"

"I ain't done nothin'!" Seth defended, making his way towards John and placing his hand on the other side of the mask to turn it his way for a better view. "I ain't done- well, would you lookit that."

Suddenly a white light began to emanate from the altered mask, pulsing from it. The light grew wider with each wave and before they could even begin to react, both John and Seth were enveloped in the glow. They couldn't see anything, they couldn't hear anything and neither of them knew how long it was going to last.

Time was not exactly something they could keep adequate track of in their circumstance, but it certainly didn't feel like long had passed before the waves began to dissipate, and the light with them. When they could see and hear again, the two found themselves in very different surroundings.


	3. …to the new West

**Chapter 2 – …to the new West. (**_**Re-Animator**_**)**

* * *

><p>Herbert was in quite the predicament. All he ever wanted to do was <em>defeat<em> death; to come up with a way to bring people back to life after all hope in the concept had been lost. But now he was being dragged to an uncertain doom. Not only that, but he was being dragged to his doom by what could only be described as a hulking growth of distended colon that had wrapped itself around his body like an anaconda would with its prey. He had sought only to conquer death, and instead, death would have the last laugh. One last, humiliating laugh.

In a way, he had attained his wish. The reanimation reagent he had spent years developing was finally ready for human testing. There were still some kinks to work out with the mixture overall, but it was ready for testing. Unfortunately, calculating the correct dosage turned out to be somewhat of a problem. The first test subject resulted in a gruesome display of the human body's adverse reaction to the serum. It was extremely fresh, but the dosage was likely too large. While there are always bumps on the road to success, this particular bump proved to be quite the spectacular one. Every organ that could explode, exploded. The eyes ruptured in their sockets, the heart grew to a size that burst through the protective casing of the rib cage, and his brain expanded far greater than the confines of his skull allowed, causing the cerebellum to implode. It was a disaster… but Herbert also learned so much from it.

The following trials were an odd mixture of greater success and greater failure. One of the 'kinks' that still needed to be corrected in the serum was that when it brought something back (human or animal) it triggered them into a primal, aggressive state that there was no quick, easy fix for. This seemed to be the case with every single specimen, save for one: Dr. Carl Hill.

Dr. Hill and Herbert had butted heads as soon as the intellectually promising student arrived at Miskatonic University and began remarking how most of Hill's work and 'research' was nothing more than a derivative ripoff of another doctor's work. Herbert even went as far as to make that fact known to Hill's coworkers and the students that he taught. As the reanimation experiments continued and grew out of hand with their uncontrollable results, Dr. Hill put two and two together and figured out that Herbert had somehow achieved an insurmountable feat: the apparent reverse of complete brain death. The good doctor had planned to blackmail his defiant student and take credit for the world changing discovery himself. It may have worked too... if Herbert hadn't killed him and subsequently revived him moments later.

Much to Herbert's surprise, Dr. Hill acted unlike any specimen before him. He wasn't just alive, he was fully cognizant! Hill recognized his former student, he talked to him even... and then he managed to knock out the younger doctor and steal his notes and remaining reagent serum.

When Herbert was able to track him down to the University morgue, they had one final showdown where he decided that he would try out a theory and dispatch his adversary all in one go. It wasn't as easy as Herbert had thought it would be, because Hill had a little plan of his own in store for the budding student. Utilizing all of his medical knowledge (which included an extensive study of the art of hypnotherapy), the newly-acquired reagent and a laser surgical drill of his own design, Hill was able to alter a reanimated corpse's brain functions and bring them under his complete control. In the time it took for him to be found, the doctor had created an army of ten reanimated monsters to rise and fight for him. Almost falling victim to becoming nothing more than a drooling servant of Hill himself, Herbert was able to turn the tables when one of the undead broke free from the mind-control it had been under and began causing havoc that even Hill could not subdue. With their master distracted, Herbert slipped from the clutches of the reanimated army and put his plan into action. The idea was to pump so much reagent into Hill's body that it would induce the same adverse reaction he had experienced during his initial human attempt. The overdose worked wonderfully, but perhaps it had worked _too_ wonderfully.

Hill's body began to pulsate and shake as the fluid flowed through his body and Herbert couldn't help but stare at what was taking place. He was simply in awe of what was before him. Not more than a moment later, there was a grotesque outline of something trying to push its way out of the abdominal area, much like the outline a baby's small hand or foot would make as they moved around in their mother's tummy, and suddenly a length of colon shot out and wrapped itself around Herbert's face before he could dash back and out of reach. It pulled him down and lassoed him in a tight grip he had no hope of escaping. As the overly-large intestine began to drag the helpless doctor back to whence it came, Hill's chest violently exploded open, spewing forth the vast majority of his insides and leaving an empty crater behind.

The reanimated that were once under Hill's control began to act of their own, aggressive accord as soon as the doctor's head was crushed by the original rogue reanimated, releasing whatever hold he had on them. They began to wildly attack anything and everything. The equipment in the morgue, cleaning equipment above the sinks, even Daniel Cain and Megan Halsey, two individuals who were unfortunately pulled into the whole chaotic mess thanks to Herbert. One of the stumbling undead managed to knock over several chemical vials, the resulting mixture formed into a white gas that began to expand rapidly and caused a burning sensation in the eyes and lungs of all exposed. Another of Hill's abominations tore at the wires in an electrical box and electrocuted itself, sending wisps of burned flesh and smoke into the toxic gas that was just released. As Dan and Megan attempted to escape, Herbert managed to grab the bag that contained his notes and last few bottles of his reagent. Even if he was going to die, he would not allow his life's work to.

"My notes!" he yelled as he clumsily threw the bag in the couple's direction.

It was at that same moment that a bright light flashed in the room and suddenly there were two newcomers who just appeared out of thin air.

* * *

><p>John and Seth went from a familiar setting to a pure white place of seeming nonexistence to... well, they weren't really sure where they ended up. As their vision returned all they could see was a foggy haze and shadows that danced madly from place to place somewhere in the distance. No sooner than they had arrived, something flew through the air and hit Seth directly in the side of the head. He staggered back, releasing his hold on the mask and raising his right hand to the area that had been hit. John was in a bit of a daze as to the circumstances in front of him. His brain was trying to figure out what <em>had<em> happened before it could process was _was_ happening. After seeing his surroundings and Seth being hit with something and moving away from him, his hearing came back... but, oh god, did he wish it hadn't. His ears were greeted with shrill screams that made him wince in pain and unsettling moans of discord. The sounds were only underlined by the distinct smell of burnt flesh and some unknown chemicals that were trickling up his nose and down his throat, stinging him immediately.

"What the hell's goin' on, John? Where- where the hell are we?" Seth yelled, half-coughing and sounding extremely alarmed as he waved an open hand back and forth in front of his face in a vain effort to clear the tainted air. If the situation wasn't bad enough on its own, Seth's high-pitched screech would have done plenty well to unsettle John's soul.

The gunfighter began to shake his head, looking down at the Jade Veil mask in his hand. "I don't-" He stopped in mid-sentence when someone or something scurried between them and quickly grabbed the thing that had smashed into Seth's head. Instinctually, John moved his free hand to the handle of his revolver, but whatever it was was gone with the item in tow.

"John! John!" Seth began to shout in a heightened panic.

John eye's flashed back up to his friend and he was shocked to see him being attacked by two people. One, a rather tall black man with all kinds of tubes and needles attached to him, had his arm wrapped around Seth's neck and was beginning to cut off all oxygen and the other, a man who looked like over half of his body had been badly burnt in a fire, was pulling on the prospector's arm and scratching at it so fiercely that it was drawing blood. John quickly unholstered his gun and tried to take aim, but everything was so foggy and chaotic that he didn't want to chance shooting Seth will all the movement. The smoke was pricking at his eyes as well and he had to focus.

"Partner, help!" Seth screeched again. "Partn-" His words were cut short as the burnt man reached up and latched onto Seth's open mouth with two fingers. He pulled forcefully and, with a with a sickening wet sound that could only be described as skin tearing, Seth's cheek had been ripped clean off. The old grave-robber bellowed out in pain as blood began to flow and John witnessed more of his friend's teeth than he ever would have wanted to see.

The gunslinger faltered for a moment at the horrendous vision in front of him before shaking himself out of the shocked state and aiming his pistol. Less than a moment later he shot at the black man and hit him square in the left temple, leaving the bullet and a fair amount of gray matter to explode out of the right side. The man released one last grunt and fell to the side, pulling Seth along with him. As he fell, Seth's head connected with the pointy edge of a metallic cleaning station, leaving a sizable chunk of flesh and hair on the sharp corner. Both bodies hit the floor with a disturbing sound, one that mimicked mud splattering against a board, one that, much to his disdain, John heard over the deafening noise of the room. The burnt assailant looked at his fallen comrade for a moment before darting his head towards John and appearing as if he was going to advance. Another pull of the gun trigger and a bullet tore into the man's shoulder and he immediately began to scamper away.

Already fully aware of what the outcome would be, John made his way to the downed Seth and knelt before him. His eyes were open, staring blankly up into John's. There wasn't even a reason to check for a pulse.

"Aw, shit. I- I'm sorry, Seth. That was no way to go out for a man like you," he mourned in a soft voice, resting his hand on his friends face and pulling down slightly to shut his eyelids. "You weren't a great friend, you might have even tried to stab me in the back a time or two you crazy, old fool... but you were a friend, I suppose... and I don't have many of those left these days." He sighed and looked around for a moment. "Especially wherever the hell I am now." He gripped the Jade Veil tightly in his hand momentarily. "You damned crazy, old fool. If only you- why did you have to be so..."  
>It was of no use to chastise the dead and John shook his head, dismissing his odd mixture of regret and anger at his loss. There would be time to further grieve or curse Seth's name, but now was not the time or place for it.<p>

A muffled sound rose above the rest of the commotion, pulling John's attention to the other end of the room.

"Helff! Helff ee! Fumone helff!"

He stood, stashing the mask into one of the over-sized pockets in his duster but keeping his revolver in-hand just in case Mr. Crispy or any of his friends decided to try to rip his cheek off. As he tucked the mask into his pocket, he pulled a handkerchief free from under it and held the cloth to his face, making sure to at least cover his nose and as much of his mouth as he could. It may not have been the best filter in the world, but it was a godsend at the time.

"What- what the hell?" John chocked out in surprise upon the sight he was greeted with as he followed the sound of the muffled voice's grunts.

* * *

><p>Herbert was laying on the ground, one hand firmly latched onto the side-rail of an overturned gurney and the other still desperately trying to pry the tail of human intestine from his face. The colon was still attempting to drag him back to Hill's body, but the doctor would be damned if he would go easy. Suddenly the sounds of yelling and a gunshot rang through the already-tumultuous room. It was shortly followed by another gunshot. Herbert's mind began to spin. Had the morgue security officer carried a firearm? Yes, yes he did. He had even seen it once, but where the hell did he come from? Herbert hadn't seen him when he first arrived, but... well, who else could it be?<p>

"Help!" he tried to yell, but the message came out somewhat mangled through his stifled mouth. He continued to cry out, unabated. "Help me! Someone help!"

He continued grunting and trying to resist the pull of the distended innards and it didn't take more than a minute before the doctor saw the outline of a human body approaching though the dense screen of chemical fog, but was it help or just another of Hill's abominations? As the figure neared further, he could see that it was someone who he did not recognize at all. It wasn't a reanimate, nor was it Dan, Meg or even the useless security guard. It was someone dressed up as a... cowboy? He was holding a gun that looked like it came right out of some old Wild West movie and the man was decorated in full-on bronco garb. There was the classic high-crowned, wide-brimmed hat atop his head and a long, battered tan coat draping over his body. It wasn't buttoned, and Herbert could see a vest and shirt underneath, as well two belts strapped to his midsection. One was holding up his pants and the other, which sat more loosely than that first, was sporting an empty gun holster and a near-empty collection of cartridge loops right next to it. Was he hallucinating now? Wouldn't that just top it all off. Regardless of whether it was an illusion or not, Herbert reached up to the man in a vain hope of help.

* * *

><p>John didn't respond with the offering of his hand in return immediately, as he was still trying to understand exactly what he was seeing. There was a spectacled man laying flat on the ground with... something wrapped around the length of his body. That 'something' just so happened to trace back to a body that was propped up against a wall. A headless body. A headless body that was still moving, shaking and spasming in random patterns while squirting ample streams of blood from the various severed vessels in its neck stump. John had seen some crazy things in his time, especially after the dead crawled from their graves and the infection spread from humans to animals alike. He had been chased by packs of undead coyotes, tamed fabled creatures he had only heard about in tall tales... hell, he even crossed paths with the mythical Chupacabra, a group of Sasquatch, countless Jackalope and a hoop snake (though he had to admit that that may have just been a regular ol' rattlesnake that had swallowed its own tail). But this? This was, at the very least, the weirdest thing he had ever witnessed... by a long shot.<p>

A covered yell of surprise escaped Herbert as he was yanked forward with renewed vigor by the intestines. With his hand raised, he had no means to resist the tug of the determined organ.

The sudden burst of movement was enough to jolt John from his trance. He lowered his weapon and took aim at the fleshy tentacle, but then hesitated. Was this really something he should be spending a bullet on? After all, he had no idea where he was or how he could get more ammunition if the need arose. He had four in the cylinder, one left in the front cartridge loops and a full-set of seven in the back loops. Twelve bullets total. Even with well-aimed shots, that was only twelve targets he could reliably take out from a distance. Carrying extra ammo was not something he was concerned with when he set out in search of Seth. He knew there would have been plenty of bullets available from the undead he encountered on his path or the half-eaten bodies of fallen victims of the pandemic. But now? Well shit... he didn't have the faintest idea.

There was another violent yank and Herbert was pulled even closer to Hill's convulsing body. He began to wonder if this stranger was just going to stand there and watch as he was dragged to whatever fate await him inside that open chest cavity. He wanted to yell, he wanted to shout, but all he could do was frantically wave both arms and attempt to make some audible sound from his enveloped mouth.

John breathed out a sigh of frustration and holstered his gun. There was no need to spend a bullet on something he could just as easily do in a more hands-on way. As he made his way to the man, he reached to the other side of his gunbelt and unsheathed a large Bowie knife. He placed a booted-heel on the length of fleshy cord and he could feel it try to squirm away under his weight.

Watching as the cowboy held the blade in his hand and slashed in a downward motion, Herbert felt the grip on his body loosen substantially and he was able to wiggle and flail his way out of the wrapping mere moments later. There was a wet splat sound that kept repeating as the end on intestine still connected to Hill was rapidly tapping against the ground, leaking blood and... colon matter.

"Disgusting," Herbert lamented as he made it to his feet. He kicked at the writhing collection of tissue and immediately cried out and clutched at his side.

"Hey, hey you hurt, mister?" John questioned, slowly making his way towards him with a hand cautiously outstretched, the Bowie knife still visible in the other. He was offering his handkerchief.

The doctor sucked in a breath of air that only caused the pain in his side to flare once more. "Oh, Jesus!" he hissed, snatching the cloth far more irritably than he had ever intended to. "No, no, I'm fine... I hope. Just a case of bruised ribs." There was another jolt of agony. "Maybe broken," he grunted out in discomfort, moving the hankie to his mouth.

"Gonna be alright?"

There was a slight relief when Herbert watched John slide the huge knife back into its holding spot in his belt. "I'll survive. Thank you. You..." he wasn't exactly sure how to finish his sentence. He had never had anyone... "You saved my life."

"I've been known to do that a time or two for folk," the gunslinger modestly admitted, grabbing at a random piece of fabric and once again covering his mouth. "You mind telling me what the hell is going on here? I mean, what the hell was that thing?"

"Um..." Herbert was slightly thrown. He couldn't very well explain the situation and expect the stranger to not think he was crazy. "Perhaps this isn't the best time." A well-timed low groan from somewhere in the mist only seemed to punctuate his point. Hill's minions were still on the loose and the air was not exactly safe to breath. He had his own questions that he wanted to ask John, but he would have to heed his own words and hold off on them.

"Fine. Fine," John murmured while looking toward the room's exit. "What's your name?"

"Herbert. Herbert West. And yours?"

"John Marston. How about you lead the way outta here, Mr. West. I got people I need to find."

The words jarred Herbert's memory, and he realized he too had someone he needed to find. Dan may have made it out alright... then again, he might not have. Just as importantly, he had his notes.


End file.
